Split
by alittleunsteady
Summary: Trigger Warning: Mentions of Sexual Assault.
1. Chapter 1

He'd been perfect.

Too perfect.

She'd been anything but perfect.

Too imperfect.

Unexpectedly, he'd loved her imperfections and he had made it clear that she didn't need to be perfect.

But, he hadn't been perfect.

He'd been cold.

Calculated.

Deliberate.

Her hands clung instinctively to her sides, the torn edges of her shirt inconsiderably obscuring the rapidly appearing bruises that camouflaged her lower torso.

She was dirty.

Broken.

Lost.

She didn't remember just how she got there. It was late. The room numbers were blurring together as she attempted to keep her jeans from parting from her waist.

The button had snapped, the force of his hands…

She paused then, hands trembling as she found the desired apartment.

There wasn't a sound, the hallway deserted as she stood in silence for several minutes contemplating her potential retreat.

Who would believe her anyway?

He'd been perfect.

She hadn't been perfect.

A knock.

" **Beca?"**


	2. Chapter 2

Sincere appreciation for the favorites and follows. This story may go back in time at points. For now this is immediately after Chapter One.

* * *

There hasn't been many words exchanged after she had let Beca in.

She hadn't been composed, at least she hadn't been at first. Shock altering her routinely bubbly features before concern appropriately made her jump into action. She'd led her to the couch, several questions boiling uncomfortably in her core as she attempted to address the current situation. Blood tarnished the tattered jeans, and one of the several plaid shirt's she's grown to admire from a far.

 **"What happened, Beca?"**

Silence. A quiver of a split lip.

 **"Who did this to you?"**

It appeared her inquiry further instilled fear, for the commonly fierce DJ curled a bit more into the couch.

 **"What can I do for you, we should call the police-"**

 _ **"Don't."**_

And then her eyes were trained on hers, blue mirroring blue. She tentatively took a seat then, reaching to put an arm around her best friend.

A flinch. _**"Just, Don't."**_

Silence filled the apartment again, the only sound the occasional pitter patter of the rain as it collided with the windows.

It was three o' clock in the morning, Aubrey was sleeping soundlessly in her bedroom, and the instinct to wake her grew with each unnerving second.

Aubrey would know what to do, she always knew what to do.

She may have made sure to instill a little fear with the intention of those around her being the "Best" to their ability, but she also cared.

She didn't know what to do, Beca wasn't talking and Beca was hurt. Someone had hurt Beca, someone had...

She was making an assumption, but she had a feeling she was right.

 **"I want to help, what can I do?"**

Her inquiry was met with initial silence, and then a request.

 _ **"Can I Shower?"**_

Beca's voice cracked with the request.

But if she showered, and her assumption was right...

 **"But, Beca-"**

 _ **"Please."**_

And that was how she ended up with her best friend wrapped up in her arms, the DJ asleep after exhaustion proved to be victorious. Her eyes were trained on her best friend who looked too fragile in the shirt that was too big for her, on the hair that was still damp and gradually drying with each minute that passed, on the split lip that no longer had blood crusted around the edge, and the bruise that crept up her hip at the curl of the shirt.

There'd be more questions in the morning.

Aubrey would be awake in the morning.

But, that was the morning.

The clothes that Beca had been wearing were tucked neatly in a bag, the tears that had been shed had gradually tapered, and now she could only vow that she would never let someone hurt Beca again.

But, someone had. She didn't know who. She hadn't been there when someone had. And, she very well may have lost any evidence that would have definitively proved who it had been.

What kind of best friend was she?

She didn't know. But she remained awake, hands held securely around her best friend.

The minutes ticked by, and sleep was a forgotten friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you again for reading and reviewing.

* * *

Donald had been beatboxing in a corner, another pop song that had been overplayed on the radio was blasting through a pair of cheap speakers, and the weekend brew of jungle juice had already made friends with the apartment's carpet. Chloe's infectious laughter carried effortlessly, and the sound alone made her not regret accepting her invitation to the Treblemaker's party.

It'd only been a few short months since she'd boldly grabbed that silly yellow cup and had made an impromptu audition that nearly made Aubrey produce actual steam from her ears. Months since she attempted to not experience claustrophobia before a cloth was ripped from her head and _blood of the sisters that came before you_ was thrust into her hands.

A lot had changed since then, and while the unnecessary hate that both she and Aubrey harbored for each other had grew with each practice, she'd entertained the idea of staying so she didn't have to endure the puppy eyes that Chloe so often threw her way. Maybe she liked harmonizing and _lady dancing to a Mariah Carey chart-topper_ , and maybe she liked the idea of spinning her own twist on the sets if Aubrey finally got the stick that sat so far up her ass out.

It hadn't happened yet, but she'd kept her part in the group even though she'd grown frustrated with the uninterested crowds at each performance they engaged in. Maybe Chloe had something to do it with it, she hadn't been sure.

What she was sure of was that Chloe seemed content with locking lips with Shower Tom, Aubrey had apparently forgotten her own rule while intoxicated and was eying up a Treblemaker, and she was currently nursing the spiked juice as she gave a judgmental stare at Jesse as he did something foolish that would have resulted in him getting a concussion or worse if he happened to fall.

A keg stand, something that she didn't find worth contributing to society.

" _ **Be-CAW!"**_

An eyebrow rise, a flicker of a smile curled at her lip, and a roll of her eyes followed the moment he collided with her nearly knocking her to the ground.

" _ **Why aren't you on my level? Is it because you don't like fun things?"**_

He had a knack for saying she didn't enjoy fun things, and had a knack for inquiring about why she wasn't on his level. Initiation night had been the first occurrence of drunk Jesse that she had endured, and it'd been a hint that he had been the type to enjoy invading other's personal space even more while intoxicated.

She'd brushed him off then, Bumper getting his attention with another game and she getting distracted by Chloe's hands as she led her to the impromptu dance floor.

The scene shifted, and instead of blue she was staring at brown.

Instead of smiling she was grimacing and she couldn't speak because someone had a hand firmly placed on her mouth.

A scream struggled to part from her bruised lips, and a _smack_ resonated within the darkened room.

She could taste blood in her mouth, and she attempted to breathe without panicking as the pain occurred again and again in her lower core.

" _ **You know you want this, Beca."**_

The voice was distorted, as if someone had been blurring the sounds she could perceive.

" _ **Why are you fighting this, Beca?"**_

" **Beca."**

She couldn't get him off, why was he doing this?

Where was her friend who enjoyed popcorn and the ending of movies?

Where was the guy who pushed her buttons but kept her sane while they stacked CD's?

This wasn't him, this couldn't be-

" **Beca!"**

Blue mirrored blue again, perspiration layered her clothing and her chest raised erratically as she attempted to catch her breath. Sunlight filtered its way through the partially obscuring curtains, and Chloe Beale was sitting across from her staring at her as if she had been wearing some horror inducing mask.

What had happened?

She gazed down, the oversized shirt at first inspiring confusion.

Then there was realization.

Why had she come here? What did Chloe know?

" _ **I have to go."**_

She stood then, attempting to make it to the door before arms were enclosing themselves around her frame. She flinched, and then the tears that had effortlessly bubbled the night before came to surface once more.

" **I'm here. Please don't go, Beca. We don't have to talk about it. I'm here."**


	4. Chapter 4

Sincere apologies for the major delay in creating another chapter. Had a busy couple of months. Hoping I'll be more consistent from here on out. Sorry this is a bit short, but promise the next chapter will be delivered sooner. Thank you for reading.

* * *

Nothing had been said.

Or rather, she hadn't been able to get anything out of her best friend nor the fractured shell of a person that Mitchell appeared to be.

Mitchell was sitting on the couch, wearing a shirt she remembered purchasing for the redhead, and her facial expression made her wonder just who damaged her laptop?

Because the distressed expression and the way she fiddled with the frayed edges of Beale's shirt were not so subtle cue's that she was upset about something.

Mitchell, the person who wasn't afraid of anything. The one who was too cool for school, the one who wore too much eye makeup and the one who had made it perfectly clear that she wasn't going to truly abide by her rules. It was why the pair had been at each other's necks for most of the semester.

Why was she upset? Why was she wearing Chloe's shirt?

Where did she get a split lip? That hadn't been there last night, had it?

Why was her eyes red as if she had been crying just moments before?

Before had been when she had yawned, when she had stepped into their living room and caught sight of her best friend staring nervously at the DJ sitting on their couch.

 _ **"Beca? What-"**_

Chloe had cut her off.

 _ **"Stop. Just, don't. Not now."**_

And now, she too was staring at Mitchell as if she were glass that had broken into a thousand pieces. But, while she had a feeling Beale knew just why Mitchell was haunted, she could only wonder just what had caused the DJ to crumble and fall.

Who had hurt Beca?

Did someone actually hurt Beca?

What did Chloe know?

Eventually her resolve would crack, questions would be raised and motions would be carried.

For now, she'd let Beale handle the situation. Although, would either of them be able to repair the damage, the damage that was quite apparent as tears began to resurface again on the DJ's face?

She was broken, and she wasn't sure if she or Chloe would be able to put the pieces back together again.


End file.
